The Girl in Red
by not-that-clever
Summary: Natasha is used to a hard life and betrayal, so it really shouldn't come as such a surprise when she finds herself left out in the cold once again. sequel to The Solution to all Problems
1. Prologue

When Clint finally got in to see her, he was in the foulest of moods.

They had tried to keep it from him to begin with, burying him in an office under field reports and junior agent evaluations. But after hours of no human contact aside from the persistent receptionist who always found some reason for him to stay, he gave her the slip and ventured out for some distraction from the mind-numbing paperwork.

He sauntered into the mess hall without a care in the world. Funny how fast things can change.

While he was pouring a cup of sludgy coffee, Agent Roaker came up next to him. They'd done a few ops together in the past and it wasn't unusual to reminisce "Hey man you okay?"

_Huh? _Of all the things Clint had been expecting.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" Clint replied, bemused. He figured he probably looked like the walking dead after spending all day in a dimly lit dungeon that SHILED liked to call an office.

"You know…" he gestured vaguely, "all the shit the went down with Romanov last night…rough day man"

Clint stared hard at him, uncomprehending.

Roaker shifted uncomfortably, "you…don't…know?"

"Know what?" Clint said slowly, his words clipped, "What happened to Agent Romanov?" She was in Stockholm, on some cakewalk protection detail that Fury had hand-picked her for. It was ridiculous to think anything serious could have happened to her; and if anything _had_ he would have been notified.

He noticed suddenly that the room had gone unusually quiet and looked up to find people either openly staring or looking trying to look anywhere but at him.

_What the fuck?_

"I thought…I um…er…" Roaker stumbled over his words, not wanting to be the one to spill the bad news to one of SHIELD's most deadly agents. Especially not when it was about said agent's partner and suspected lover.

Clint's blood ran cold momentarily, and then began to boil with an indignant anger. Why the hell would they keep this from him? He pushed past Roaker, and shoved past people in the corridor as he made his way.

* * *

He barged in while she was in a meeting of some kind, "What happened? Where is she?" he demanded with an unnerving and forced calmness lacing his words.

Agent Maria Hill, heaved a sigh. She had been expecting him, and frankly she had been surprised it took him this long to realize something was off. The hope had been that they could keep him busy until Coulson tied up him own assignment and return to handle breaking the news. She knew they'd never be able to keep it from him for that long.

Some asshole on the detail with Romanov was able to text some other asshole, and before they knew it _everyone_ knew. So much for being a _secret_ organization, it was embarrassing. They barely managed to seclude Barton in a vain attempt to keep him in the dark. She was surprised it had worked at all.

"Excuse us gentlemen," the two suits, CIA, glanced warily at Barton but left without protest.

As soon as the door closed, Barton let loose a barrage of questions. "What went wrong?" "Is she alright?" "Why didn't you tell me?" "How bad is it?" "Is she in surgery?" and with each question she realized that he didn't _actually_ know.

_Shit. Damn Coulson for not being here._

He was probably the only one that could keep Barton from doing something truly stupid.

"…is she here? In surgery or recovery?"

"She's here Clint…" another sigh, "But she's not in medical…"

* * *

It took some threats, and one not-so-figuratively twisted arm, but he eventually gained access to sub-level three, SHIELD's high security detention facility for the New York. There was a man in a cheap suit with a clip board in hand, leaning back in a chair outside the cell of the facility's only occupant. Clint approached slowly, eyeing the guy suspiciously.

He found Natasha sitting on a metal bench behind two inches if plexi glass as though she was Hannibal Fucking Lecter. She sat with her back strait, chin held up defiantly, and a stony mask firmly in place staring off into space. Her hair was disheveled, lip split, a bruise across her jaw, and there dried blood across her forehead that matched her hair perfectly.

He was filled with both relief and outrage at the sight of her.

"Tasha," he breathed "what happened?"

* * *

Hey look! I'm writing again. Feels like it has been forever! Y'all need to send some reviews so I feel guilty about making you wait and jump on writing the next chapter.


	2. got a good thing going

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It is always encouraging when you receive feedback.

* * *

_*One week earlier*_

This was exhausting.

Twelve days spent running around chasing down some piece of tech that had gone missing from a private lab with a SHIELD contract. The skinny kid who nabbed the chip, or whatever it was, fancied himself a high profile hacker and was incredibly talented at running and hiding.

Natasha had been paired with an Agent Foster who was a tall athletic beauty with a knack for computers. They'd worked smoothly together, tracking down the target, running surveillance, and then intercepting him as two pretty girls on holiday from University. It would have been cake, except for the fact that the kid was a certifiable genius who thought the fact that two beautiful women who were interested in him shortly after stealing an expensive piece of equipment was definitely too good to be true.

Rather than revel in the unexpected attention, he decided to cut and run, but not without setting a few nasty surprises for them along the way. He hacked into the police databases and put out BOLOs on them, and then called in a tip, which added all kinds of fun complications and misunderstandings.

They tracked him back to a shitty basement apartment where they were greeted with a flack bang and a night spent in a sealed clean room with computers that had been smashed to hell.

The kid had run as far and as fast as he could, covering his tracks pretty damn well, but Natasha was no novice when it came to disappearing, and in the end it wasn't enough. They caught up to him at bus station in Mexico City, waiting to catch a bus to that would take him farther south, with his ear buds in and his face buried in his computer.

Now the kid sat glumly in the back of a military jet, handcuffed and listening as Coulson laid out his options: Work for SHIELD and do some good, or face a lifetime in prison. It made Natasha wonder how many of the people who made up SHIELD were there because they'd been caught between a rock and a hard place, and SHILED offered them a second chance.

She couldn't decide if she thought it was smart or just plain stupid. Did it ultimately foster loyalty? Or was it foolish to comprise your ranks of the people who were once your enemies? In this business, trusting the wrong person gets people killed.

She guessed it was above her pay grade. After all, here she was working for SHIELD with not nefarious intentions. It was a good job, and a good life so far. Why mess with a good thing?

At the moment she could not wait to get back and fall into bed. This mission had been exhausting. Not the mission itself, God knows she's had much worse, but because of Foster. The woman was a regular overly friendly social butterfly who would_ not_ shut up. She was the kind of person who could not simply sit in silence, always had to be filling it with words.

The woman was a skilled spy no doubt, but if Natasha had to listen to one more story about what sickening adorable thing her niece did at their last family gathering, or her stupid cat, or her idiotic boyfriend…

It's not that Natasha couldn't do small talk. She was a master and could easily engage in conversation with anybody about anything, but it was all artificial. She could easily play the interested and entertained audience when it came to a mark. But when it came to her collogues… she'd never had collogues before working for SHIELD. She'd worked with other people, but you got in and got out, you didn't make_ friends_. You never know when you might have to turn around and kill your team for the sake of tying up loose ends when you worked for the Red Room.

She often found herself caught between faking it and being cold and distant with those she worked alongside. More often than not she opted to be cold and distant, figuring it was better than putting up a fake front around people who still expected her to turn around and stab them in the back.

Budapest had gone a long way toward buying her good will within SHIELD and transferring to New York had also helped. Fury seemed to trust her, and that was enough for some, though she still got some sideways glances from people who weren't wholly convinced of her conversion into one the "good guys" as Clint like to call them.

She wondered vaguely if she would find him asleep in her bed when she returned home, sprawled across it as though it was his and he didn't have to share an inch. He had a habit of breaking in while she was away. In another life she would have found that annoying, but now the thought of him waiting for her back in New York warmed her.

_Finally _they touched down in New York around 22:00 local time. Coulson handed off the hacker kid and then lead her and Foster through a mercifully short debrief, dismissing them and ordering them to get some rest. Natasha attempted to slink off before Foster drew her into another long winded one sided conversation. She didn't think she had the patience to be polite any longer and it would not end well.

"Romanov! Hey wait up!"

_Damn_

She turned to find Foster jogging to catch up, skidding to a halt in front of her like an excited puppy. "Hey," she smile brightly, "just wanted to say, it was a pleasure working with you." she flashed another brilliant smile and extending her hand toward Natasha.

Natasha hesitated a moment before grasping her hand firmly. "Likewise," she replied, inwardly wincing at her flat tone. But what could she do? She wasn't quite sure how to respond. This was definitely a first.

Foster seemed unphased by her cold tone though, smiling once again, "I know I talk a_ lot_ and probably drove you crazy, but I hope we get to do this again…well. Not the chasing an eighteen year old around three different states, but…you know…I'd love to work together again"

In some ways Foster reminded her of Clint; though he usually knew when to shut the hell up. Which didn't really mean much now that she thought of it, he would keep pushing till he provoked a reaction from her.

_The stubborn ass _

She had to fight to keep a slight smile off of her face; giving Foster an agreeable nod and a crisp "good night" she made her way home.

Her room was cold and her bed empty.

Resisting the urge to sigh heavily, she shook off her disappointment and peeled off her clothes to slip on a SHIELD t-shirt that had BARTON labeled across the back and climbed wearily into bed.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, the bed dipped suddenly, pulling her abruptly from sleep. She felt, rather than saw a hand come near her face, and simply reacted. Grabbing the wrist, she twisted it savagely until it elicited a yelp of pain, then swung her leg up to knock her attacker off balance and shoved them into the wall. Cursing herself for not realizing the moment someone entered the room, she barely registered the stream of obscenities flying from the guy's mouth.

She threw herself at him with a knee aimed toward his head. He deflected it and grabbed for her ankle to pull her pull her to the ground. She broke his hold, slamming her fist into his face and laying him out flat on his back.

She pounced, landing her full weight on his chest and knocking the wind from his lungs.

"-asha…" He grunted painfully, grabbing her wrists before she could get a good grip on his neck. His hands gripped tighter "Tasha! _Natasha_! Stop it! _Ostanovis'!" _she froze briefly at the sound of her native language, giving him just enough slack to throw her off.

Dazed, she retreated until her back came up against the side of the bed, at a loss for words. She watched as Clint pulled himself up to sit back against the opposite wall, chest heaving and fresh blood running down his face.

His eyes closed briefly as he rested his head back against for wall, taking a deep breath of relief, "ow" he moaned. All Natasha could do was stare at him in numb shock.

When his eyes opened again he flashed a crooked and weary smile, "nice to see you too."

* * *

This had gone differently in his mind.

He'd come in quietly, drop a kiss on her forehead before crawling into bed. She'd wake up briefly, give him a sleepy smile and then snuggle into his side. Maybe if she were anyone else, it might have played out that way, but this was Natasha Romanov, _the Black Widow_. One does not simply sneak into the room of a highly trained and paranoid assassin whilst they are sleeping and not expect to end up in a world of hurt.

Come to think of it this was probably one the stupidest things he had ever done. What did he expect? For her to _magically_ sense it was him? Not gonna happen.

Before he could decide what to do next, she was on her feet and out the door.

_Shit. I fucked up. _He banged his head back against the wall in frustration.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a cool damped clothe touched his face. Natasha drew back at his violent flinch, looking slightly startled and at a loss for what to do with a damp rag in one hand and a bag of ice in the other.

What a pair they make.

Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of her shirt and tugged her closer. Taking her cue, she gently pressed the cloth to his nose, her movements stiff and awkward, wiping away the blood. She focused on her task, purposefully avoiding his gaze, as if she was embarrassed that she had attacked him.

"Hey," he spoke softly, waiting till her eyes met his. He frowned playfully and tugged at her shirt again, "isn't this_ mine_?"

She huffed, and rolled her eyes. _success._

"Not my fault you leave your shit lying around." She brought the ice up to his nose, still stiff and uncomfortable with the situation.

"Thanks doll," he grinned at her, and she gave him a _look._

Taking the ice from her with one hand, he wrapped the other around her waist drawing her into his lap. She came willingly, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her, and_ finally_ relaxing into him.

"Sorry" he murmured.

"For what?"

"Sneaking up on you, it was stupid"

The barest of smiles pulled at her lips, "faults on both sides." She rested her head against his, taking a moment to breathe him in.

And then, because he couldn't resist, "I'll say. I mean _jeez _Tasha, I got all the way to the bed before you woke up. Going a little soft there?"

She punched him in the arm. _Hard_

"_Ow!" _he whimpered.

And there was that look again. The one that said she was annoyed, but in a good way. He could practically hear her call him a child. She didn't say it was she was definitely thinking it.

Her eyes softened, and she touched his nose softly, apologetically. She lean in to press her lips gently against his, keeping her eyes on him. He sighed happily, bring his hand up to the back of her neck to draw her in closer and deepen the kiss.

"So," he said as he broke away, "not that you have needlessly abused me, can I sleep with you?"

She kissed him again, smiling into his lips. "No," she whispered teasingly, "you get the couch." She drew away completely, leaving him cold.

"Like hell."

* * *

Just after dawn, the phone on the bedside table beeped, waking her. Clint groaned noisily, he pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck. "too early," he mumbled.

She strained to reach out for her phone, restrained by the archer's powerful arms. Her fingertips barely touched it.

"Tasha," he practically growled, "Ignore it."

She managed to pinch the edge between two fingers dragging it closer at she could grab it.

"Could be important,"

"mm, doubt it"

There was a message from Coulson

_Fury's office. 0900 tomorrow._

She tossed the phone back and buried her face back in her pillow.

"told ya."

"shut up"

"make m-"


End file.
